Nights of Summer
by Ethers Echo
Summary: The past of Diogenes and one girl he loved, come back to meet him... all over Europe really. What shall the game be? Before Brimstone to Dance of Death. M for later chapters, language, and some violence of course... it's Diogenes so it has to happen.
1. Chapter 1

I Don't own anything dealing with the Pendergast novels that may be in here.

Diogenes was probably my most loved villain of all time.

(SPOILER SO DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE LAST OF THE TRILOGY)

I cried when his character stopped coming back.

So I wrote this to in hopes full fill my dream of his story continuing, well my version of his story. So to not end up like some fan girl… though I probably will eventually… and have him some how not have gone where he went, I went back in the past between then and now. This is strictly a love story… so if you don't like that go away. Twisted love, but love all the same.

It was nearing summer in the wet heat of Louisiana; the ground was coming alive like it was suddenly in heat. The sun pelted down on the moist earth like a greedy vulture eyeing a good spot and time to smite the earth. The air like a thick soup, the herby smell of fresh cut and charred grass mixed with the boggy smell of swampland just a bit of a ways a way. It was almost summer time and the school children were ready

Their laughter, their obnoxious teasing, it was all too much to be wrapped up in the middle of. Boys in creased knee high shorts, with their little polo's coming out from their taught belts. Pale knobby white knees lead down to their knee-highs and loafers, caked with dust and mud. Crawling like monkeys through the jungle gyms, chasing after one another like lions after the antelope in the vast Sahara, crowing like birds for the name of their territory- it was absolutely vulgar. So he stay-stay far away from the pack of wolves.

It was his swing, and no one dare touched his swing, even when he was not present. He had a dull red hair, short, and neatly slicked from his face. Freckles tickled his pale cheeks, just beneath two vibrant eyes- one green and the other a milky blue. He was in the same get up as all the others, except he maintained to keep his own quite tidy and less stained with the deadly bug juice.

Pale hands on the thick, creaking, chains of the swing, he sat sullenly staring at the scene. Legs dangling just above the ground, he slowly slung with the wind, ominously isolated from the others. Aunty always said, that children new things adults never knew, Diogenes was one of those things. Children knew to keep away from him, knew not to cross him, and knew not to stand in his way. How ever, his brother didn't share that common treasure.

At the moment, in fact, the pack had zoned in on their prey. His pale brother was putting up quite a fight actually, his angel blonde hair a disheveled mess. Little arms flying and thrashing, shouts of victory and shouts of pain filling the circle. A few girls in their skirts and polo are sat atop there thrown on the slides, snickering and musing in the royal games bellow. The little princesses with their knights fighting for their affections.

Ranging from ten to fourteen, their scrawny little bodies were quite the council to the queen and king. A little girl perched higher amongst the girls on a large rail, legs kicking lazily and messy brown curls falling in tufts over her shoulders. The king with his band of nights over the little boy that had now curled up into a ball; the king was a tanned boy with regal features for his age and taught little muscles- a sure foot ball jock with age.

The social structure of what is school. Lately, his parents had been considering taking the two out, especially from the recent events. In Diogenes opinion the attempt to have the two assimilated into school was a mistake from the beginning. Even when they had just started the private schooling- not even public- they had suffered the constant teasing of children. Of course, every school has the child that is driven mad by their peers for being week or odd. In the Pendergast brothers case the story was far different.

Their family was a family of darkness- a label that always sent a small smile across Diogenes face. That said, plenty of families had it against his- whether for their darkness or wealth was another question. As most children do, they listen to their parents like tiny pieces of clay, brain washed by the slime that oozes from their poisonous jack and bourbon stained lips. Obviously, this hatred festered like roaches into the children and from the display just beyond the haltered had thus transferred onto the youngest generation of Pendergast's.

Sighing to him self, he touched the tip of his shoe down to the ground, pushing himself lightly back and forth as he observed the games. So far, little Aloysius was on the ground curled into a ball; the idiots thought they had him beat. Diogenes loathed his brother, but he would not hesitate to credit the boy with his strengths. A sudden wave ran through the ground as a head dropped- some one was down. A few children from the front began to push back as the children in the further lines moved in confused to replace them. The battle raged on and his brother stayed in place on the ground. With in another minute, another head dropped and the crowed surged again. King retreating to his queen on their massive castle of metal bars, he surveyed the crowed with a waning pride- perched safe upon the top rail. Another head was down and more children began to flee.

Aloysius had been practicing a lot lately to fight of the crowed, and in his defense it had never been this bad. How ever, he was doing a fantastic job considering the head that just fell with a small muffled cry was the seventh so far. Soon there was just a small ring of five and the dirty Aloysius was up- caked with dirt, blood, and Battered with bruises. That was Aloysius; he would never go down that easy. Even in his brother's violent beating, Diogenes stays immobile; why waste a good pair of clothes on Aloysius's blood. He couldn't feel bad either; really, if he were in the same situation he wouldn't expect Aloysius to come running in to the rescue for him.

The King had long ago fled away and the girls returned to playing amongst themselves. It was apparently never fun when one was loosing… especially against one little boy. Plus, the risk of a teacher coming out now was growing ever closer. The teachers were never the supervisors hey should have been and came about on a set schedule to come check on the children. Obviously, the children still fighting Aloysius realized that- or they were tired of eating the dirt Aloysius was now feeding them.

Averting his attention suddenly, Diogenes heard the grass; stiff and burnt straight begin to break. Crackling softly, he could feel the curved steps, light, and careful hit the ground. Suddenly beside him, he turned to see two little hands clutching the chains of the swing beside him. In a flash, two feet and jumped up and over the seat, a small raven-haired girl in its place. She was pale, probably as pale as him, but the contrast between her skin and hair made the color of her skin far more dramatic. In the usually uniform, she was quite neat and he had realized that he had no idea who she was. He couldn't see the colors of her eyes, but something about them told me they were like crystals, the shards he could see that shot from her pupils like the calculated cuts on a diamond. Legs swinging gently, she too began to watch the scene beyond the two. Furrowing his brow he resumed his previous activity. Curious, no one dared to sit with him; she must be new to the area. If that were the case, she would have to learn what was his. Perhaps though he would throw a test her way.

"Absit Invidia," he said, still watching his brother beating a boy who would just not quit it. She was probably just another dunce, a little spoon fed twit. N to say he wasn't spoiled, he was spoiled terribly, and of course he loved it! How ever, he did differ in that he was not a twit and had confidence and pride in his ingenuity and intellectual superiority to his pears.

"**vos mos parties," she commanded. Her voice did not hold the accent common to Diogenes, it sounded oddly straight and smooth. None of the consonance was too hard or too soft and instead, and the vowels followed suit. **

"**Diogenes," he said quietly returning his attention to the children at play.**

"**ANTOINETTE…"**


	2. Chapter 2

I do not Own anything by D.P.&L.C.

Lunch time.

Generally, there was a seating order, not by the teachers, but by the students. The Maure family was in the nearest table to the exit, a group of gypsy looking boys and girls- one of them being the queen. The Berbon family was just to the left of them, a spotty looking group of fair skinned children, the Lumer's just behind them, and the Nulmiers just behind them. The other few tables were up for any. Those four families however, especially the Maure's, owned the school. Luckily for Diogenes, this was his last year. Gingerly, he says in the spot he always sat, a lone table, and diagonal to his brother and his only two friends.

It was his, his spot. He sat there every day since the start of school and watched. He watched the chattering fools, watched his brother angrily. Loathing every one of them, for their naivety, stupidity, frailty… He was disturbed abruptly, a tray flopping down in front of him with a bole of cereal. It was lunch not breakfast. Staring up from his unappetizing sandwich he met the eyes of the girl from the other day. Plopping down in the seat in front of him, she opened up the small box as if nothing was wrong.

"**vos perussi ut?," she asked pointing to his wretched plate with out looking up.**

"**No," he mumbled looking down at his plate in slight disgust. Often times he fantasized cockroaches some where in the mystery meat, still alive and twitching. He gazed back up at her, noticing her placing some of the cereal on a napkin. Magically, the napkin of oddly shaped cereal was on his tray in seconds. "You need to eat," she said popping a little cereal puff into her mouth.**

**They had been talking at the swings for perhaps a week now. At first, it was obviously awkward, and Diogenes wanted more then anything to get rid of her. Yet, after the third visit, he had begun to admire her. She wasn't your bland little snob; in fact, he didn't even think she was rich. Exotic, eccentric, intriguing, she could be kept, at least for a little while. **

**Staring at her, he noticed suddenly a set of eyes, set firmly on his figure. Certainly it was not her, whose eyes were off into some distant world beyond her and him self. Peeking over her shoulder, he took a cereal puff and plopped it into his mouth. **

**His brother. Oh, dear brother, he must have been so confused at the sight… almost as much as Diogenes was, probably. Aloysius's face was paler then usual, actually. It seemed drawn, shocked, and his intense blue eyes seemed to falter away into a sea of nothingness. Oh it was so delightful! **

**Popping another cereal puff in his mouth he noticed that she was staring at him, staring at his eyes. Growling, she didn't look away when his brow furrowed and fiery gaze stared so intensely at her that it threatened to set her aflame. Still she didn't flinch. Instead, she picked up a cereal piece and popped it in his mouth. "You're funny," she chuckled, picking up the empty cereal box and strutting away. **

**As if assuming she would know he didn't eat, he hurriedly finished his cereal. Fumbling for his tray, he saw a hand come down on his tray, "Little brother." Diogenes peered up at his brother, "Oh, dear Aloysius, to what do I owe this honor?" Aloysius sneered down at the fiery child. Snatching his plate out from under his older brothers hand, they stood erect on either side of the table, a total stand off. The entire lunch room seemed to hush into silence, and then…**

"**Don't hurt her," Aloysius warned ominously. Spinning away, it seemed like the world decided to resume its regular functions. Smirking and ruing in his satisfaction, he trashed the tray quickly and ran out of the exit after her. Blinded by the sudden sun, he fell back against the door shielding his eyes. The faint howl of wind forcing passed his small body, the sound of creaking metal as swings swished and the turnabout spun. Getting back to his feet he roved an eye over the playground like a hawk eyeing for his prey.**

**Running as fast as his pale legs could pump, she was in his spot, on his swing. "Hey," he called, "What do you think you are doing?" Eyeing her little legs pumping her higher, above everyone, above the world. "I said, what do you think you are doing," he growled trying to grab the chain of the swing. **

**She just laughed, a cute lively sound, jumping off of the swing before he could catch her leg- skirt flying like a wave in her wake.**

**She was quite the little sprite, actually. "You're so picky," she giggled spinning around to watch him clamber onto his perch, "Why not do something different, something extraordinary, or at least, better the past…"**

**Furrowing his brow, he frowned down at her, "I can do other things."**

"**Then why do you stay on your branch all day like a vulture, when you could be the predator," she teased.**

**Wrapping his little fists around the chain, he stared her down with all his furry.**

"**What are you suggesting," he muttered reluctantly.**

**Turning back to the playground she pointed back with her thumb, "No one is out. Why not take the thrown?"**

**Eyes narrowing, he rubbed his chin like he often saw his father do. It was a splendid idea, one he had already fantasized of long before the day, but never fulfilled. Perhaps now that he had an accomplice… they would just crucify them both. **

"**Come!" she called, wrapping an encouraging arm around his own and tugging him, much against haw will, to the slides. "I always sit at the slides, it's my thrown."**

"**Who is to say you can't have more then one thrown," she countered climbing the slick slide to its top. She had a point, the Ottomans, Greeks, Romans, and so on all had numerous smaller kingdoms… "Hurry up, will you."**

**Scurrying to the top, his loafers did nothing to aiding any grip to the situation as he stumbled and bumbled up the slide. It felt like ages before he hit the top, crawling up beside her and leaning, winded, against a metal pole. "Antoinette," he breathed huskily, and almost instantly her head snapped around, it was the first time he said her name. **

"**What," she teased, a great smile teasing a pinkish hue to her cheeks.**

"**You're crazy," he smiled lightly for a fraction of a second, and still it made her smile grow.**

"**You're not?" she asked, a slight gleam in her eye- a gleam that would great him on more then one occasion. The situation was perfect, their little lying over the slide, barely separated by a small ridge in the slide, hands splayed behind them as they leaned back toward the sky. Just staring in silence, they watched clouds changing shape and telling their story in the world above, the cicadas humming their tune of the bayou, and the tall grasses battling the breeze that was seen but not felt.**

**Even so, it felt like hours before their peace was broken- the queen and her infamous family was on the scene. "What are you doing?" her voice pierced their ear, forcing them out of the bliss and back to the bleak reality that was school. "You're in my spot!" she shrilled, throwing a hand to her hip and kicking out a leg. Groaning with out a word, Diogenes shifted uncomfortably ready to move, but suddenly felt a hand on his- a wonderfully smooth hand over his own. **

**Furrowing his brow in confusion, "What…" Hushed instantly, he eyed Antoinette carefully as she reached into a pocket. "Are y'all going to move!" the little witch bellow shouted. "No," Antoinette said simply, flicking something out of her pocket and into the girl's face- a shrill cry silencing even the cicadas. Reeling in disgust, she tried to see what was on her forehead- slapping at it frantically. There, inching along her great globe a large green fuzzy caterpillar. Finally slapping it down to the ground, she shrieked, "You keep stuff like that in your pocket you freak?" **

**Antoinette shrugged lazily, eyeing the queen and her slowly retreating figure, "Freak."**

**Diogenes cocked his head to the side to look at Antoinette's pocket, "You keep that on you?" Cackling she through her head back, "Sometimes, it looked pretty, so I wanted it." There was something so oddly innocent by the fraise that flicker of a smile was inevitable. **

"**Hey," she began, "we won right?" Diogenes nodded with a faint smile, touching her hand with his own and looking back toward the sky. **

"**It's almost the end of school," she began.**

"**Will I see you," he questioned looking at her out of the corner of his eye.**

"**Naturally," she smirked, "how about next year?"**

"**Ah," Diogenes faltered, "I won't be back next year…"**

"**Aren't you a lucky dog," she mumbled, "You aren't moving I hope."**

"**Of course not," he assured, "And yourself?"**

**Merely nodding, they returned to their silent company, taking in the sensation of the playground. Cicadas, screaming children like banshees, the rustle of the brush, and the distant rumble of water on rock- and there they were on there thrown together, above the world.**

**vos perussi ut?- you consume that?**


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own anything from DP and LC.

-present-

Paris, the city of love, and at the moment a bridge into the Mediterranean countries.

It was on one of the main drags, a lovely, little, dark, and bar with a whole lot of class. Plush cushions like giant plumbs, wrapped in a cherry wood, and long brass legs stretching downward. A cherry bar laced in brushed brass and a clear glass top a clear support for dim candles, menus, and various beverages. A tall man, pale, in his thirties, with soft orange kept hair and goatee rested on a par stool, gingerly straining a green liquid into an odd glass- absinth, a drink for reflection.

Diogenes had landed in Paris possibly a night ago, and despite the travel he appeared lively, and unfazed. His cool composure unwavering, he finished his ritual and took his glass up beneath his nose, taking a deep breath in. It was splendid, but not enough to die for. Nothing was ever like the original, though. Absinth was one of those things that, once you have the real deal, any nock off is somewhat disappointing. Twirling a finger in thee green elixir he plucked it out and gingerly sucked on his finger- almost perfect. Caressing the glasses edges in one skilled hand he took the glass to his fine lips and took a sip of the fine liquid, breathing in a little as its heat traveled down his neck. Exquisite.

The bar was a chattering mess, of men and women in suave coats and elegant dresses- at the bar, the tables, and random points on the floor. The heavy smell of mingling colognes and perfumes choked the weak, and an aromatic hint of alcohol was the only warmth in the room. Some how the plush seats of cherry and cherry wood tables held no character, no love, just appearances. A bartender- tall, with slicked back brown hair, in a dark vest, pressed pants, prim white button up, and a fine red tie- stood absent mindedly against a wall of bottles, lit up bye dozens of dim lights.

It wasn't a place to hide, to escape, to drown out your memory, and let go of everything you had. Rather, it was a place to be seen. It was the bar simply called Lumier's, but a hot spot for the elite. Most went there simply to flaunt their money, their style, and their "eccentricities"; how ever Diogenes went there to people watch. There in the corner, a male- your average, proper, politician, and an obvious bag of lies- serenading two younger women in the corner, despite the obvious tan line of a wedding ring. On the opposite side of the room, a group of lively women who were obviously fresh money looking for more with the likes of six very pleased old men, of obvious wealth. Along the bar, a small group of CEO's ruing in their freedom to buy what they may, and joking of the poor blue-collar workers in their companies.

It was entertainment, in a place where Diogenes was never really seen, but only felt- his presence a subtle taste added to the many. Gently placing his cup down, he roved an eye over the crowed once more. Summer in Paris, dashing into nightfall, it was the absolute highlight time for socializing, and everything that was anything was in this bar. A placid face surveying the crowd, a sudden wave of interest eased its way beside him.

A slender woman, draped in a dark silk, though he could not see the color, fine classic heals raised her height, and a sweet aroma of Vanilla and earth emanated from her raven haired being. Rolling his head casually to the side he looked her over, subtly taking in every twist and curve. It was a strap less dress, folding up like a flower over her bosom, quite exocentric for the high class which generally chose a more bland reserved style of dress; and like wise, it was easy to presume that she was not born into money like the rest. A few scars, small but easy to see, decorated portions of her arm, and it became even more apparent of her status with in the ranks. Though her figure was enticing, he couldn't quite see her face, long locks of hair that had escaped her bun covered her features like a curtain.

"Puis-je avoir le contrôle de l', s'il vous plait," a familure voice cooed. It was soft like honey, and despite the forced French accent, he could tell beneath that the accent bellow was beyond neutral. For what seemed like hours, he jut watched her wait for her check, sign it, and return the little booklet to the bar keeper. Her slight form, turning away from him to look at the door, he felt him self stand up behind her, absent mindedly breathing in her sent- oblivious to her retreat. Moments unable to be taken back passed by before he noticed her form at the door. Quickly he grasped a small wad off cash for his drink, took another, but heavier, sip of the fine liquid.

Turning around, she was gone. Usually, he would move on with his chase and see it for another time, but this time was different, she was different. Throwing a wad of cash on the bar he elegantly moved from his seat and strolled out of the bar, tipping his head to the eyes that fallowed him speculatively. Pressing out into the street, he solemn face returned as his eyes roved the streets, packed with more people and cars, but just beyond him the slight figure was getting into the car.

"To bad," he mumbled shoving his hands in his pockets, and watching the cab ride off. Turning back toward the bar, he looked away quickly, there was nothing there for him any more- it had been quite dull about an hour ago for him. Silently he moved to the edge of the street waving a hand at a cab that willingly sped over. Climbing into clean leather seats he tapped on a thick and poor excuse for dividing glass covered in ash from smoke. Asking for his hotel, the dash over was beyond life threatening! Dashing between cars and spinning around round about, they made a crash course for the entrance- by which, Diogenes was flying out of the car for his own safety. Grunting his disapproval, he threw a few dollars into the driver seat; and trudging into the building, he sulked over to the front desk.

"Ah, how may I help you, sir," the edgy woman from behind the desk struggled through her accent.

"May I have a wake up call for 5:00 am," he cooed, his southern accent like molasses.

"Yes, sir," her perky fake smile flushing to her face behind a layer of heavy exhaustion. Tapping away at her keys, he smiled his thanks, tapping the counter and turning briskly. He would be out of Paris by 8:00 in the morning, on a train to Berlin. Having the choice to go straight to Italy, he decided against it. Recalling Berlin from his younger years, he was tempted (especially now), to relive some of his time there. It was with out a doubt a wonderful city, full of history and of course dark tales.

Roving over the scene, a black and white mess. It was elegant, not over the top, but classy, with glass tables circled by fine leather chairs, Hard wood floors, lengthy curtains and artful decorations… metal elevators framed with classy engravings…

And the woman in the dark dress, her black and white figure strolling to the elevator, and with out a moment's hesitation, he was on his way to the heavy metal doors.

They opened, she went in, and they were closing…

Throwing his hand out he went to catch the door, but her hand hit the open door button before he got there.

"Ah, thank you so much," he said through a slightly ragged breath, composing him self beside her, arms folded in front of him.

"No problem," accent less, "These elevators take so long."

Closing, he chuckled lightly, staring out of the corner of his eye at her. A floor passed, a slight click of a light as it turned and the humming of the cords about- no elevator music, thank goodness.

In a swift wave of his arm he had her pinned to the side of the elevator, taking in her sweet scent- vanilla and earth.

"And to what do I owe this pleasure," he growled in her ear.

"Oh, what do you mean by that, dear," she played, licking just beneath his ear.

Growling he nipped at her neck, "I would know your voice from anywhere."

"Now, now, now, we are in public," she cooed bighting his ear. His lips trailed up her neck fiercely.

"You have been hiding from me, my dear," he bit just beneath her ear, sending a small shudder through her heated body, "And you know I don't like this sort of game." A hand began to ride her dress up and brush against her fine thighs. Groaning above her, he moved his face over hers, brushing the hair out of her face to see that porcelain face, and with out moments more hesitation, he took her lips with his own. Plunging his tongue deep into her mouth, exploring the failure ground, and her hands trailed up to his shoulders, weaving into his hair.

Despite her heals, he towered over her, and for here that was an extreme advantage. Hands trailing to her sides, a small ding was heard above, breaking his concentration breaking. With in seconds, she was out of his hands and out the door, "Perhaps another time," she called back at him, as she dashed off down the hall.

Doors closing, he stood, a brilliant smirk on his face. 'Such a little sprite,' he mused, shoving his hands into his pockets.

A soft ding, and he was at his floor, strolling leisurely down the hallway. His dove, his love, he would get her, the sly fox.

Slipping his card on his door, her let the door slam strolling into his large elegant suite, of hard wood floors elegant drapes and art- a giant window gracing one wall. Slipping his coat off to the couch, his toned arms shown through the long crisp, which sleeves as he strolled to the window. Sliding it open, a gush of wind kissed his form as he stepped onto the balcony, and the hushed sound of the city beyond cried out like the ocean. The Eiffel tower beyond, the people bellow, and just closer to him, his Antoinette- leaning over the rail with a glass of red wine.

"My dear," he chuckled devilishly, resting his elbows on the bar, "I will have you by morning.


	4. Chapter 4

I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING BY DP AND LC

Aging papers, a thick comforting smell in a well furnished library. Luxurious carpets graced the floor, and above them sat fine Victorian chairs, love seats, and a fine oak coffee table and desk. Lit with fine lamps, the walls were dressed with floor to ceiling shelves, packed with books and odd specimens. The Penumbra mansions very library, and Diogenes' area of work and relaxation.

Upon a window seat, the fine light of the sun just filtering through to illuminate the pages of Vladimir Mayakovsky, sat Diogenes. Leisurely thumbing over a page and basking in the sun, these were the moments he always relished. Solitude and escapism was in and of its self was a time of healing and rebirth. In it, he could wipe away his racing thoughts and worst nightmares, only to resume later on in his devious contemplation. It dueled as a room of experimentation, as well. Seeing that most of his family, minus dear mother, kept far from him, they dubbed this Library primarily his. With that privacy, it was easy to sneak the cats and dogs in, and stash his tools and cleaning supplies. Plus, the windows always help ventilate the smell.

School had just ended, and it was the last of it he would ever see. Mother had hired tutors, and home school was an official must after the last day. Dear Aloysius' poor eye was graced by a lovely dark mark. He wouldn't much miss school, the teachers were obviously incompetent and the students a disgusting hierarchy of nitwits leading even lower beings. The rudimentary aspects of the day, class-to-class, basic literature studies, common lessons of math, the universal fashion of history… every day was the same, and material was hardly ever different. A waste of life, a day care for the rich to rid them of their mistakes.

He would miss one thing, how ever. Unable to help himself, his knobby white knees slid down, the book falling with it. The blue of the sky he could not see, the fluffy clouds that looked more flat like cheap cardboard clouds in children's theaters, and the receding land as a series of values of black, white, and grey. He was out side, running with in the great land beyond, the fine air tickling his skin and lifting him from any shreds of sorrow that he always denied. It would be odd, it was the one routine he really enjoyed at school, and with the tutor, how could one return to the table, the swings, the slides.

Shades of grey began to fill the sky; the sun peaking down over the horizon. It used to be so beautiful, so full, and so alive; and now it just looked dead. The sun, the sky, the land, everything was dead. Frowning, his hand slid under the back of the book, flipping it shut with a soft flop. Gingerly taking it between skilled fingers, he threw his legs over the side of the seat, sighing gently to take a final look at the ominous sky. Everything was dead.

A soft, thud, thud, thud, of feet, hardly able to hear of the hush of white noise, he paced briskly to the shelves. Reluctantly, he slipped the book back into its home, brushing its spine with tender fingers. How he wished he could relish in them for days on end, but there was work to do.

Tip, he paused.

Tip, it came again.

Tip, he turned.

Tip, a small fleck on the glass pane where he was only moments ago.

Tip, pebbles.

Cautiously, he traced his steps to the wall just beside the window, pressing his figure against it before cautiously peering around its edge.

Tip.

With purposeful movements, he eased himself on to the window seat and began to push the window open.

Tip, he paused, and then in a moment of silence resumed his work.

Eyeing them as they creaked open, he slowly peered over the edge. Thwap! Shooting back wards, Diogenes clutched his head; his boyish body so astonished he bolted upright likes a soldier. Removing his hand from his pounding forehead, a small red dot, was forming on his head, and the soft pink flush spread over his pale face. Flustered he shoved his head out the window, scowling down at the part bellow. How dare they! It was probably just those evil children from school. On countless occasions they had showed up in the dead of night, or with out any one home, and set tricks up- TPing, ringing bell repeatedly, graffiti, and other menial acts. But the site bellow was far from your little demon.

"Antoinette!" he shouted, surprised, "You witch!"

"Dear me," she teased, "Did I give you a sudden concussion?"

With the smallest laugh, more of a passionate smile then anything, he was off. Out the door, down the stairs, down the hall, through the Grand Parlor, and straight to a series of glass doors- five times he almost tripped in his mad dash. Fumbling with the door, he finally swung it open it barreled out of the door into the nights chilling air. The oddly crisp smell of water, and freshly cut grass, pressed him with the faintest hint of the still over bearing smell of the swamp lands just beyond. The beating of cicadas, the chirping of crickets, the howling of a soft wind, the rustling and bustling of life were all distraction for the real attraction- his Antoinette, standing before him in a flowing summer dress and her hands clasped just behind her back.

Motioning to wave her in, she grabbed his arm and pulled him out, turning and running off toward the middle of the lawn before she paused in her journey outward. "Come on now?" she whispered loudly, waving her hand at him. Furrowing his brow, he trailed after her, catching up as she began to run off toward the woods. Grabbing her arm, they both pushed through the brush into the city of towering trees.

Fireflies gliding by they're faces, his hand trailed slowly down to hers, gripping it tight as she led the way? Deeper and deeper into the forest they trailed, crossing mud patches, thick areas of grass, croaking frogs, nocturnal beasts, and the oddly crisp smell of rushing water. "Almost there," she assured, squeezing his hand.

Pushing into a second clearing a small spring, surrounded with pebbles and odd stalk of grass, loomed out of the darkness like the dozens of fireflies that added their light to the starlit sky. It was gorgeous, absolutely breathe taking. Coming up beside her, he held tight to her hand, looking out over the majestic waters. Releasing his hand, fingers brushing over his skin leisurely, he eyed her tiny girlish figure trailing over to the waters.

They were twelve years of age, and oddly enough closer then ever. It had been five years since the accident, and some how at this moment, looking into the eternal waters, it didn't matter. Sitting down with her on the rocks, smoothed with age, wear, and tear. Still one thing did pain him, and it was one thing he would never understand.

"It's the end of the school year…" he began softly, looking out at a distant flower in the middle of the lake.

"Yes?" she simply replied, enamored by the dance of the fireflies.

"Why did you come to see me?" he asked, almost absent-mindedly.

Taken aback she looked over at him, "Why would I not?"

"There is no more school…" he began his justification but faltered, consumed by thought after thought.

Gingerly, she placed the backs of two porcelain colored fingers on the side of his cool cheek, guiding him to face her. Taking in his eyes to her own, she smiled lightly, "I just wanted to."

"That's it," he asked, terribly confused.

"Sometimes, things are just that simple," she smiled and in the swiftest movements, her lips graces his cheek- innocent, pure, and oddly assuring. Placing a hand over hers that was resting on the rock beside her, he furrowed his brow, the flush of pink consuming his face.

"Oh come now," she teased, nuzzling her nose against his, "smile, I came to see you didn't I? I could have never came, but I wanted to." Quickly she trailed her lips over hi, a small flush coming across her own face, "Please be happy."

After many moments of simply staring at her, his lips finally twitched into a small smile, his beautiful eyes glittering with the joy he could not show. Brushing her hair back with his fingers, he allowed her body to slide up next to him, his hand easing to her side.

"Why did you come outside," she teased, nuzzling her head against his chest.

"Because I wanted to," he quoted.

"That's it…" she perused.

"Sometimes, things are just that simple," he teased rubbing her arm lightly, and kissing the top of her head nervously.

"You think we can still spend time together," she asked, a hauntingly solemn tone in her voice.

"I am not sure about during the school year…" he began, his voice trailing off nervously.

"During the summer?" she asked, rubbing one of his legs absently.

"Of course," he assured her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

In a matter of seconds, she stood up, and trailed off into the brush. Standing nervously he began to walk toward the dark mess of trees and tall grasses. "Hey," he shouted, "Antoinette! Where did you go?" A splash sounded behind him, sending him reeling on his heals to face a now rippling bed of water. The fireflies had scattered every which way in fear, and everything seemed to go silent. Cautiously he took a step forward… another… A large gush of water as two wet hands reached up onto the rock ledge. A soft gasp as he caught his breath, he watched as Antoinette's head popped up from the water, taking in a quick breath and shaking the water from her face. "Come join me Diogenes!" she pleads reaching her hands out.

"Are you naked!" he shouted, suddenly shocked, his face paler then usual.

"You are born naked," she retorted, "what is the problem."

Furrowing his brow, he shook his head, and crossed his arms. "Oh," she cooed, "why so reserved dear."

"The ones who own their freedom are the strong ones," she noted, leaning her head on the rocks.

Groaning lightly, he moved into the brush, leaving her in the soft music of the rippling water. It was only a few minutes before a small splash sounder behind her. Swimming around to face the noise, just ripples met the eye.

"Diogenes," she said quietly moving along the edge of the water. "Diogenes," she said a bit more loudly, yet no reply came her way. Whimpering slightly, she turned around reaching up onto a rocks edge. With a sharp yelp, she felt a hand wrap around her waste pulling her back down under the water. Flailing her way upward, she gasped for breath on the surface, meeting Diogenes' gleaming smile. Frowning, she shoved a wave of water at his face, hearing him sputter and giggle in his triumph over her confidence.

Giggling to him self, he whipped at his mouth, "What? I am only embracing my freedom."

Chuckling, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms over his shoulders. Freezing up, his body went rigid at her touch, looking down awkwardly at her as the water between them slowly began to disappear from chest to thighs. Bighting his lip, he wrapped his arms around d her waste, enjoying the flow of water that seemed to surround them like a blanket. Feeling the curve of her back as his hand drew slowly down to the small of her back, he noticed she was looking up at him and his wide eyes. Her black and white features both welcomed and paining him; the longing to see the hues he so vaguely remembered in her- only able to imagine and not receive.

"Diogenes," she began, every sound of his name caressed with a chillingly tender note.

"Hm…" he mumbled, softly, struggling to see the color in her eyes- it could bring tears to his eyes he wanted so desperately to see.

"You're an enigma…" he didn't know if it was a compliment or not but either way he took it as one, seeing that she nuzzled her head against his neck, and small kisses were being laid liberally along his collar bone.

Even with out color, he knew that the scene was more then beautiful.


End file.
